


An Early Alarm Does Not a Good Neighbor Make

by rhysiana



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (or rather "politeness"), Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Food, M/M, Meet-Cute, Southern Politeness, The Tyranny of Alarm Clocks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-09-06 10:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16830880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysiana/pseuds/rhysiana
Summary: A Zimbits ficlet for the "The guy living below me has a really loud alarm clock that always wakes me up at the ass-crack of dawn" AU.





	An Early Alarm Does Not a Good Neighbor Make

**Author's Note:**

> Moving Tumblr ficlets over for posterity.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bitty groaned into the phone as he fought against the urge to kneel down in front of the coffee maker and beg it to drip faster.

“Little bro, you know Ransom and I are down to help you hide the body,” Holster assured him.

“Are you sure you can’t come over and, like, strategically loom over him? As he’s leaving to do whatever it is he does at this godforsaken hour?”

“I feel used, Bitty. Used for my height.”

“Well, it’s gotta be good for something,” Bitty said waspishly. He might have apologized for it if Holster hadn’t called him “little bro” before he’d even had caffeine. Useless giant anyway. “It isn’t fair,” he added, and yes, he could admit that he was whining now, but the situation called for it. “When I decided not to actually work at a bakery, not being woken at the ass-crack of dawn was supposed to be one of the major plusses. Why is he doing this to me?”

“Have you even met him?” Ransom asked. Bitty wasn’t even sure when Holster had passed him the phone. “Are you even sure it is a him?”

“No, I haven’t met him, but I did see him leaving the building one morning. It was definitely a him. But all I saw was his stupid Falconers’ cap.”

“At least you know he’s a hockey fan!”

“That is not nearly enough to make up for an alarm at 5am _every morning_. Even on the weekends, Ransom. There is nothing that can balance that out. He’d have to be… I dunno, a saint. Sculpted by Michelangelo himself. With the personality of a Golden Retriever.”

“Mm-hmm. Good luck with that.”

“Oh, whatever. Go to work, the two of you.”

The coffee maker was finally done. It was his only real friend.

***

Since Ransom and Holster refused to come over to act as his Brute Squad, Bitty was forced to fall back on his own tactics: passive-aggressive baked goods and weaponized politeness. Since Mr. Alarm Clock liked getting up so early in the morning, this clearly called for muffins. Bran muffins, at that. (Not that Bitty’s bran muffins weren’t delicious as well, but it was the most obnoxiously healthy thing he could bring himself to make. Although he supposed he could do some homemade granola…)

At 8pm, when he felt fairly sure he wouldn’t be interrupting his neighbor’s dinner, he marched downstairs and knocked on door briskly. His resolve faltered when it was answered.

“Yes?”

His demand to the universe that the man be sculpted by Michelangelo appeared to have been heard.

He steeled himself against those annoyingly perfect cheekbones and blue, blue eyes peering out at him from under a set of messy bangs. This fine specimen of a man was still the one who set his alarm so criminally early.

“Hi!” he said, Georgia accent suddenly in full force. “I’m your upstairs neighbor, and I realized I hadn’t come down to introduce myself. Eric Bittle.”

He held out his hand and the other man took it, looking slightly confused. “Jack Zimmermann.”

“I just brought you a little something to welcome you to the building.” Bitty now offered him a basket that would have made any member of his mama’s Junior League chapter proud. (And also take a step back.) “Since I’ve noticed you like getting up so early, I figured you probably didn’t have a lot of time to make breakfast for yourself, so there’s some muffins in there, plus a bag of homemade granola, but that’s so easy to make for yourself, I stuck a recipe card on the outside with some instructions so you can tweak it however you like, since I wasn’t sure what kinds of fruit were your favorites.”

“I. Um. Thank you?”

“Well, of course, sugar, it was my pleasure. I know how hard it can be to drag yourself out of bed that _early_ in the morning. Having something to look forward to at breakfast just makes it a mite easier, now doesn’t it?”

“Yes?”

“Good, good. Well, if you need anything, I live _right above you_!” Bitty had a feeling his parting smile had too many teeth to look entirely sincere, but the unfairly beautiful man was still standing in his doorway in a daze holding the muffin basket when Bitty looked back one last time before he jogged back up the stairwell.

***

Jack was a hit with all his new teammates at practice the next day, or at least his muffin basket was.

“Who make these?!” Tater demanded, trying to steal a second one before Snowy even got his first one.

“Uh, he said he was my neighbor?”

Tater put his hands on Jack’s shoulders and looked at him very seriously. “Zimmboni, you can never move.”

Thirdy bumped him with a shoulder. “Why do you look so confused about this, kid? You never had nice neighbors before?”

Jack shrugged. “It’s just. I’ve been living there for weeks already. And, like, it seemed oddly specific that he’d give me a basket of stuff for early mornings?”

Guy dropped his spoon in his granola and yogurt and slowly pushed the bowl away with one finger.

“What?” Tater asked. “What that mean? Why you do this?”

Guy gave Jack a dark look. “Jack. Where does this guy live?”

“Right above me, he said.”

Guy and Thirdy exchanged long-suffering Dad looks. “And when do you get up for your morning run?”

“Five.”

Snowy threw an arm around Jack’s shoulders and leaned in to snag a muffin. “Man, why? That’s gotta be driving your neighbor crazy, hearing your alarm.”

Oh. “Oh, shit.”

Guy pointed at him and nodded. Then, having apparently decided no one else looked like they’d been poisoned, he picked up his spoon and started on his granola. “This is good.” He looked back up at Jack. “Apologize.”

***

“Maman, what do I do?”

His mother was too busy laughing to reply.

“Wine,” his father chipped in, which wasn’t a bad idea.

“Offer to take him to dinner,” his mother added.

“I’m sure he wants nothing to do with me now.” Jack’s alarm had been going off for weeks. _Weeks_. At least he wasn’t the kind of person to hit snooze over and over.

“Well, it never hurts to ask.”

“That’s not true. The next basket I get could _actually_ be poisoned.”

His mother started laughing again. Jack hung up.

***

In the end, he settled on a bottle of wine, the fancy toiletries kit he’d gotten the last time he’d flown first-class (sleep mask on top), and a note. _I’ve turned my alarm volume way down. And moved my run to a later time. I’m really sorry._

He put it all in a gift bag and left it hanging on his neighbor’s doorknob.

In response, he got a pie. _Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?_

 _Not really, but I can at least try not to be a jerk_ , said the sticky note he added to the recipe card for his grandmother’s tarte au sucre that he slipped under Bittle’s door.

The container of mini tarts that yielded had Tater insisting Jack needed to kidnap the man.

He experimented cautiously with the granola recipe until he found a version he particularly liked, and left a bag of it for Bittle. Tied with a ribbon, even. He was trying. _For your own mornings, though they probably don’t start as early as mine_.

He was entirely unprepared for Bittle to join him the next morning at the head of the running path behind their building.

“I’m sorry! Did you hear my alarm again?”

Bittle gave him a sunny smile. “Only because I was listening for it. I figured if you could try making one of my recipes, I could try running in the morning. Lord, I haven’t had to do this since I quit figure skating.”

The warmth Jack felt at that wasn’t entirely due to appreciation for Bittle’s form as he started down the path. Though that certainly didn’t hurt.

On the fourth day Bittle—Eric— _Bitty_ joined him and then invited him back for breakfast, he thought maybe he was forgiven.

A week later, when they paused at the top of the hill at their halfway point and he cupped Bitty’s jaw to kiss him, he knew he was.

“I never thought I’d have to be grateful to that damn alarm clock,” Bitty laughed into his chest. “Race you back!”


End file.
